poetry by j matthew waters

portrait of a street artist

I often retell the same stories
or so I’m told
but I keep thinking I stopped doing that
once moving out of the basement

how many years has it been now
I ask mostly myself
but I remember a complete stranger
once say it’s been nine years

that was at least six seasons ago
but as far as I’m concerned
the war is never over
even though ambassadors assure me
quite confidently

I’ve not held a job since moving
out of the basement
even though I’m told I’m as hireable
as the next one
but who wants to be the next one
not me I tell the pretty lady with a
pencil and bic pen stuck in her hair
tri-folding papers and reciting old lines

I go on to tell her
all I really need these days
are some cans of spray paint
and the next good idea
usually conjured in my head
during the overnight hours
planted there by an apologetic god

september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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